


while your heart beats in mine

by UndergroundValentine



Series: Where Soul Meets Body [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Biting, Body Worship, Bruises, Consensual Sex, F/M, Force Bond, Indecent Proposal AU, Jesus christ this took forever but I love it a lot and I hope you do too, Kissing, Marking, Oral Sex, Porn With Feels, Porn with some plot, Prompt Fill, Prompt from movie, Romantic Resolution, Rough Sex, Scratching, Sex, Sex on a counter top, Sexual Resolution, Sexual Tension, Soul Bond, final part, lovemaking, part three, this makes up for the lack of sex in part two right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7227295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndergroundValentine/pseuds/UndergroundValentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She starts to close her hand, to drop it, the rush of shame blossoming in her cheeks when his palm cups her wrist.  In his hold, she finds something painfully unreadable, dark in the weight of his brown eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	while your heart beats in mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [t0bemadeofglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/gifts), [Alania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alania/gifts), [AquaWolfGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/gifts).



> ((Putting this at the top since this is now an issue: if Anon - KinkyPeters from wattpad happens to be scrolling through once again after stealing my shit sometime in January of 2018: go fuck yourself! :D))
> 
> HOLY FUCK HI
> 
> Wow. What the.. fuck do I even say? Other than a big fat fucking thank you to my dearest Audrey, without whom none of this would have been possible. Your original aesthetic started this whole beautiful madness and I am so unbelievably thankful that you pushed me from the beginning. I hope this one lives up to your expectations as much as the others. I love you.
> 
> Thank you to Aqua and Alania. You two are my peanut butter and jelly, my mac and cheese, my fucking everything. You both helped me through so much of this that I can't even imagine trying to write it without you. This is as much yours as it is mine, and I am so fucking grateful for you both. I love you. 
> 
> Thank you to YOU, readers! My God! You are beautiful and wonderful and you amaze me so much. I haven't felt so excited and so blessed in such a long time and you are all such goddamn treasures. I adore you. I am so thankful for you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> This has been.. crazy. One hell of a trip and I can't even really believe that we made it to part three (just in time, I leave for vacation on Sunday). Part one was just a strange and fun little indulgence and part two was way more than I could have anticipated it being emotionally, and this is just... gratuitous amounts of semi-unrealistic sex with a bit of feels to really tie it all in. I hope this satisfies you. I can't foresee a part four, but this is not the end of Reylo. Never. Just, perhaps, the end of this story.
> 
> Thank you, all, for everything. I cannot express adequately what this has meant to me. I hope to see you in future stories. And please, PLEASE, check out the lovely accounts of the people I've gifted this to. Audrey, Aqua, and Lani are all fabulous people and fabulous writers who deserve every ounce of affection and praise that I could possibly offer. Without them, I'm.. well, I'm nothing. <3 I adore them. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

The keys have long since been turned, engine silent and air turning cold, but she remains in the seat with a hand still on the steering wheel. 

The parking garage of First Order Industries is, surprisingly, well lit, the stalls filled with sleek cars in shades of black and red, the concrete architecture smooth and unblemished.  For the grey wash of the city’s atmosphere peeking through the pillars, she still has to blink away the darkness that filters and buzzes at the corners of her eyes.  When she drops her hand from the wheel and to her lap, her fingers are trembling.

Breathing slowly, Rey cards a hand through her hair, gritting her teeth as she tangles her fingers into the knot she haphazardly threw up this morning.  Glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror, she takes a moment to fix the bun, smoothing out most of the baby hairs but keeping it relaxed all the same.  No sense in being entirely unpresentable, even if all she’d really done was roll out of bed and into the clothes she’d worn the day before.

She meets her own eyes, clenching her jaw.  There are circles, dark edges dipping down towards the tops of her cheekbones, and she sighs deeply.  Perhaps she should have at least put some powder on—

Shaking her head, she rips her keys from the ignition, reaching for her purse before hesitating.  Even in the low light streaming from beyond the garage and through the glass of her windshield, the gleam is unmistakable.  Pressure wells and circles her throat, tightening until she grabs the ring, tucking it firmly against the center of her palm.  When she slides from the car, she slams the door with her foot.

 Grateful that her flats are silent on the stone, Rey crosses the garage to the elevator.  Jabbing the button with a finger, she adjusts the grip of her fist, pressing the ring even further into her skin.  Though it’s warming to her touch, ice is pooling in her gut with words spoken in anger and defeat, the deafening silence of goodbye still storming in the back of her mind. 

If there’s anything lingering or left over, it doesn’t surface, and for this she is thankful.  Because the last thing Rey wants, or needs, as she steps into the elevator and presses the button for the tenth floor, is to be an emotional wreck. 

Instead, she lets her head fall back into the wall, listening to the whir of cables and gears as the elevator rises slowly from the garage’s depths, breathing with the quiet tune of passing floors.  There’s a part of her that wants to calm, wants to steel her center and step forward into whatever awaits; but then she wants to melt into the aluminum and metal at her back, to drop down the shaft and flee. 

She hadn’t intended for this—well, perhaps that’s a little too vague, or maybe just naïve.  She’s felt it coming, has known for far too long now that this is where the road could end.  There were only so many excuses she could give, so many fights that she could ignore, before they reached their tipping point.  And if she’s entirely honest with herself, she might be willing to admit that she knows exactly where that tip originated.

But she doesn’t want to be honest.  Not right now.

Swallowing thickly, she feels the elevator slow and come to a stable stop, the doors ringing with their opening.  Stepping off and into a long, wide hallway, Rey can see a line of closed doors, mirrored with open windows to display the city surrounded in mist and grey autumn light.  The clouds are too thick to see the port, and she turns away to see a blonde head poking out from behind a massive desk.

Even with the distance, Phasma’s stony-blue eyes are impeccably sharp and bright, but there’s a kind smile that spreads across her thin lips.  As Rey approaches, the woman stands to her fullest height, and Rey wishes she had her heels.

“Good morning, Ms. Kenobi,” Rey offers a smile as Phasma greets her, folding her open hand over her fist.  “Were you wanting to schedule an appointment with Mr. Ren?”

“I was, actually, wondering if I could just steal a moment of his time?  If he’s not busy.  I didn’t want to bother him with a full appointment for just a few minutes.”  It’s unprofessional, sure, but she has no other plan—hell, she has _no_ plan.  And what if he’s busy?  She’ll wait, she supposes, feeling her heart pressing closer and closer to the base of her throat.

“Mr. Ren isn’t actually here at the moment, but he should be at any time.  You’re welcome to wait in his office, if you’d like.  It should be unlocked.”  Rey blinks, wondering if she’s imagining the glint in Phasma’s eye before nodding in thanks.

Rounding the corner, her steps become harder to manage, the glass doors of Ren’s office drawing nearer and nearer.  Biting the inside of her cheek, she hesitates at the darkened room.  The desk and chairs are but silhouettes against the grey light of the windows, shadows casting their fingers along the hardwoods to the threshold she stands behind.

Reaching out, she touches the handle, twisting it until the door gives and swings open slowly.  At the movement, the lights of the office rise to a warm glow, and she steps inside before turning to close it once more.  The room, itself, is impeccably clean and organized, with shelves lined in books and folders.

Crossing to these, she traces a few of the titles with a finger, thinking back to the shelves she remembers seeing from his apartment, and she allows a small smile.  Whether for show or for pleasure, there is a sense of satisfaction that his personal interests cross both atmospheres.  Clenching her fist again, she feels the ring shift in her palm, and her heart falters in her chest.

Turning on her heel, she looks away from books, papers, and files, to the desk in the center, a chair and a monitor on one half, two leather chairs across the spread.  Reaching out, she touches the material, feeling the coolness give beneath the pressure of her fingers.  She still remembers the first time walking into this room, and seven months feels both like an eternity and a single breath.

There’s something twisting in her stomach, and she tastes a strangeness at being in this room alone.  So often has she entered with her husband, or at least with Ren himself.  But this is different, and it feels so, as the disquiet in the depths of her soul pushes her away from the leather chairs and towards the large windows behind the desk. 

Breathing, she looks down at the ring again, the band well-worn and shining.  Her teeth chatter with a sigh, a tremor in her spine tingling out towards the surface of her skin.  They’d been arguing back and forth for so long that when he’d all but dropped the damn thing on the table, she hadn’t felt surprised.  Even her own aggressively stubborn heart had demanded to lash out and fight back, or to drop her own as well.

She didn’t, though.  Her own ring feels hot against her skin, and she twists it gently.

Rey bites the inside of her cheek, a pull in her gut telling her to go, to leave.  The walls are shaking around her and she wants to scream until she’s hoarse, because _years_ are crumbling beneath her feet.  And what is she doing now but looking at books and a mahogany desk and waiting for someone she doesn’t really know.

Her husband is gone.  The world they’ve spent so long building together, for themselves, feels so very large and yet isolating, and though there is so much work to do she hasn’t been able to return to the shop yet.  She supposes she’s thankful that she has good hands aboard to assist her, and that Finn and Poe have been able to hold down the fort, as it were, in her absence.  But it’s not their responsibility, it’s hers, and all she’s done is hole up her aching heart in Pandora’s box.

Chewing faintly on her lip, she looks down at the band again.  Years, she tells herself, and this is how it ends.  With a bitter goodbye and a slammed door.

Swallowing her heart, she straightens until her shoulders are squared, her gaze hardening at the sea of grey and skyscrapers before her.  At her back, she hears footsteps, the click of an opening door.  Lowering her hands in front of her, she squeezes the ring, before her fingers wrap around her own.

“Morning,” she hears him say.  There’s a rustling of fabric, and she doesn’t reply at first.  Air kisses between her fingers, and she breathes deeply.  “I hope I didn’t keep you too long?”

“No,” it comes out with a sigh, softer than she intended, and to her own ears she sounds exhausted.  She pulls, gently, with a small effort as the ring slides free.  Wincing some, she tucks them both into her palm.  “I just got here, actually.”

She hesitates, pausing as her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, a scramble to find an excuse— _why is she here?_  Wedging her tongue between her lip and teeth, she tilts her head to the sound of his steps.

“I wanted to talk to you about that offer?  For more guidance.”  It’s a shot in the dark, but it was a matter of importance, even if the gala feels like a dream.

“Are you not planning on using Maz?”  He’s still behind her, and she straightens back toward the window.  Her heart is creeping in her chest, inching its way from between her lungs to the space between her collarbones, a tickling sense of apprehension clawing at the base of her spine.  Her hand hurts.

When she woke this morning, she had no thoughts, no plans or clear direction.  Her body had dressed itself, and she’d been driving before she realized she ever even left the apartment.  Any other time, this manner of autopilot might not have been so bad, but now Ren is asking her questions she has no real answer to because everything she’s known has flipped itself inside out. 

Rey wets the corner of her mouth, readjusting her posture, listening as Ren’s footsteps soften as he comes to her side.  She can smell his cologne, and she’s reminded of satin sheets and lace.  Her right hand is folded over her left, concealing the white-knuckled fist.

“She’s wise,” the words leave her before she even considers them, “but we talked, and she suggested that I would be better with the guidance I’m being given.”

She cradles something close and tight, harnessing it with an edge of willpower before turning to face him.  His eyes are tracing the shadows, the lines of fatigue, and she watches his shoulders drop slightly.  If he realizes this change in himself, he says nothing of it, and Rey isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry that he feels her weariness as his own.

“She would say something like that,” when he smiles, she feels her own mouth respond.  But it’s weak, and when she looks away from him it’s gone.  Inside, she’s trembling, the center that thrums, and buzzes, is reaching for him like a child, burning at the ice and desolation granted when her husband walked away.  She wants to revel in it, even as it feels like she’s still standing in an ocean.

“I’m surprised though,” Ren continues, and in her peripheral she can see his gaze still on her face.  “She’s usually quite willing to take prospective partners.”

“Maybe in the future,” Rey says, rolling her shoulders back to ease the tension at her neck.  It doesn’t help.  She turns her head just enough to acknowledge him.  “She said we’ll stay in touch, but that I’m better with you.”

Maz had not said that.

He holds her gaze with a tender smile, something swimming the depths, and she thinks she sees herself in there, but can’t divulge as he looks away.  There’s tension between his brows, and his resolve hardens.

“I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls,” he says this with a sigh, and her heart aches.

“I understand,” she assures him, the rhythm of her heart quelling with each breath of his presence at her side.  “It was… a difficult circumstance.”

“Doesn’t make it right to ignore you.”  He doesn’t look at her.

“No,” allowing a laugh, she admires the disheveled sweep of his hair, the stubble gracing his jaw and throat.  He’s just as wrecked as she feels, and she wants to fall into him and let the world crumble away.  “But I don’t blame you.”

She watches him slide his hands into the pockets of his trousers, the toe of his shoe tracing the grain of the floorboards.  “And your husband?  I imagine he must think _so_ highly of me.”

For a moment she’s breathless, watching him closely as he settles himself into something like embarrassment.  The rings feel like fire in her hand, and she shakes her head even though he doesn’t see it.

“His opinion doesn’t really matter, does it?”

There had been something twisting in her, curling and squeezing like a vice that refused to let her breathe.  And she didn’t want to acknowledge it, wanted to ignore its presence as nothing more than a minor annoyance.  But the question hangs in the air, and when Ren lifts his head she can feel the barriers of ice, the sweeping waves washing and melting away. 

Lifting her hand, she catches his attention long enough to relax her fingers and expose her palm. 

And she can taste her own pulse, the small bands feeling heavier than the stars of the universe.  Before her, his eyes waver from her face to the outstretched marker of truth, the new reality that unfolds between them like a secret.  The infernal things glisten in the low light, grey streams of autumn spilling through the panes of his office window.  He doesn’t look up from them.  She’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

Swallowing thickly, her fingers twitch, elbow creasing and faltering.  The tension of holding them, of digging her fingers for so long that the muscles and lines of her ache, is wearing at her strength now.  Doubt grips her, curling around her throat until her heartbeat chatters behind her teeth, and her breath is stuck somewhere behind her sternum.  She starts to close her hand, to drop it, the rush of shame blossoming in her cheeks when his palm cups her wrist.  In his hold, she finds something painfully unreadable, dark in the weight of his brown eyes. 

The thumping in her ears silences the pervasive contrition that buzzes beneath her skin, and, in his grasp, her hand relaxes.  His gaze draws away from hers, back to the curl of her fingers, the warmed rings in her palm.  His own touch shifts, fingers tracing the edges of her knuckles, sweeping over the pair of gold and diamond, as if contemplating their existence, the truth of their presence. 

There’s a part of her that wants to speak, to end this strange pause between them.  But the quiet only lingers long enough for her breath to meet his, and he keeps his one hand over hers as the other cups her cheek.  His mouth is on hers at once, warm and light, the faintest grace of his tongue at the bow of her lip. 

Rey knows she’s never been one to be resolved from affection—she’s learned and kept close to her heart the conviction that she is the only one to make herself right and whole.  But she’ll be damned if there isn’t something in the way Ren kisses her that makes that reality easier to cling to. 

With his hand on her face, she cups her own around his wrist, stepping just an inch or so to feel the warmth radiating from him.  Beneath the wash of cologne is the indescribably recognizable scent of _him_ , and she can see the webbing of scars and birthmarks, the pieces of him she mapped so carefully with her fingers and lips within the dark of her mind. 

Moaning quietly, Rey lifts her head to meet him, to deepen this kiss that feels and tastes so different from its predecessors.  There is something almost overbearing behind the press of him, a new energy that seeps from his fingertips and slides under the heat in her face, trailing and tracing fresh paths beneath her skin.  A weight that passes over her sinks into the serrated edges left behind, before drawing them closed, healed.  His fingers skim over her wrist, along the length of her arm, and Ren is holding her so close, so tight that Rey cannot stop the quiet groan that comes from some place deep within her throat.

A step, and she's brushed into the lip of his desk, her knuckles dragging on the wood as she steadies herself against it.  Ren’s grip tightens, his fingers sliding against her cheek before coming round to cup the back of her neck, his thumb teasing at her ear.  The heat and press of his mouth softens as she feels his tongue grace the seam of her lips, and she opens herself to the taste and the sound of his pleasure.

Behind her closed eyes, Rey can still see his marks and his smile, the fire of his gaze, how it reflects the light.  Tipping her head, she deepens the kiss, fingers seeking purchase in the fabric of his shirt.  There's a fluttering return of summer that wriggles into her core and warms her from the inside out, pushing away the cold, the waves, and, were she to try, she would find herself breathing fully at last.

She sighs deeply against his mouth when they part, his forehead pressing into her own as their noses brush.  Looking up at him, she finds Ren with his eyes closed, relaxed and soft at the edges.  Smiling, she tilts her head again, kissing him lightly along the corner of his mouth, earning a soft moan as he chases after her.

His hands slip and ease their way to her hips, his thumbs drawing circles against the pockets of her trousers.  She looks between them, at the space that has narrowed, the crinkled face of the tie at his neck between her fingers.  Following the creases she's left, Rey makes a path from the tie’s end over the sea of chest and shoulders draped in white.  Looping her arms, her fingertips catch and curl into the hair at the back of his neck, tangled.

Fitting next to him like this is easy, and the proximity allows her to hear his heart.  It beats, faltering only for a moment to slip into a rhythm that matches the pulsing beneath her own skin, and Rey takes the breath of quiet to tip her head and look him in the eye.  His gaze is dark but calm, like a gentle morning after a storm.  His lips, full and flushed, are parted, a warm sigh pluming over her forehead as he leans in and presses his mouth to her brow.

Rey settles, and breathes him in as his arms tighten around her, as if she might slip away at any moment.  To feel close and secure, the gentle rumble of his heart under her hands as her fingertips wander once more feels better than she could have imagined, or wants to admit.  Biting her lip, she tucks tighter, burying her face into his chest, with his mouth trailing at her hairline.  Her fingers linger along the seams, finding the buttons, and her mouth runs a little dry when she thinks about the birthmarks and scars, the impossible lines of him that she has been desperate to touch for seven months.

He pulls back, taking her hands in his own before finding the wedding rings, still in her grasp, and his touch wavers, hesitant for the briefest of moments.  Glancing at them, Rey feels her heart rise and press, her breath coming short between her teeth.  But she swallows, looking up at Ren before reaching over, dropping them both onto his desk, uncaring where they land.

His eyes darken, and she kisses him again.

 

* * *

 

She’s not entirely sure how much time passes, but he’s got her by the hand and leading her toward the front door of his apartment, and Rey doesn’t bother denying herself the simple pleasure of pushing herself up against his back.  Her free hand circles his waist, fingers sliding along the band before finding the first button of his trousers, popping it free.

She hears Ren groan, keys jingling as he fumbles at the lock before shoving the door open.  His hand finds hers, fingers lacing between her own as she tugs lightly at the zipper.  There’s a laughter that belongs to one of them, but Rey tastes him too soon to determine whether it was hers or not, his lips warm and open on her mouth.  He backpedals slowly, leading her inside before he’s reaching around to close the door.

Moaning, her hands are at the knot in front of his throat, pulling viciously at the tie until it loosens enough to be dragged free.  Ren’s palm comes to her, taking the damn thing from her grasp before pressing her to the wood of the door.  Gasping quietly, she feels the heat of his body over hers from head to toe, his gaze hooded and heavy as his fingers trace from her jaw to her cheek.

She stares up at him, feeling heat swirling in her gut as words bubble on her tongue.  His eyes wander, as though memorizing each detail of her.  Rey might have felt small under such scrutiny, might have shied away once; but she takes the opportunity to stand proud and tall, squaring her shoulders against the door.  In front of her, Ren is hunched, haggard, with the collar of his shirt undone, pants sagging off his hips from where she’s opened them, hair mussed and tie clenched in his fingers.

Smirking, Rey brings her hands to the hem of her sweater, dragging the fabric up her front before bringing it over her head.  Relaxing into the grain once more, she lets it slip and fall to the floor, a silent _fwump_ at her feet. 

“I’ve missed you,” Ren breathes, words low and bearing a groan at the edges.  She sees something flicker, turning in the near-black depths, that resonates with the tremors under her skin, the need to dig her hands in.  Tilting her head up, she smiles when his gaze comes to her throat.

“I know,” she tells him, sliding her hands to the clasps of her trousers.  He laughs, a hollow and weak thing, as he shakes his head.

“No, you don’t.  Not really…”

Blinking, Rey wets the corner of her mouth, swallowing fire.  He’s simmering beneath the surface, hesitating on a thread that she can barely see between them.  But beside it is that tether, bright in the early afternoon glow off the hardwood floors.  Leaning further into the wood, her fingers catch the first clasp, popping it free.

“Then show me,” she says.

“Rey,” it’s not quite a warning, but it’s something, and she feels a twist in her gut.  

“Ren.”

His eyes snap, meeting hers for little more than a breath before he, too, stands straight.  Her fingers open the next clasp.

“ _Rey_ ,” he repeats, his tone hard, the curl of her single-syllable name hanging in the air, and Rey smirks, freeing the third and final clasp, before opening the front of her trousers.  The waist sags enough to reveal the lace edge of her underwear. 

“Or, should I call you _Mr_. Ren?”

She can see his hands trembling, the fabric of the tie shaking in the air between them.  With just a slight push, her trousers fall and pool at her ankles and feet, and Ren all but devours the lines of her legs, the lace and cotton against her skin, the hem of her undershirt. 

“Or maybe you’d prefer me shouting—”

He’s on her, then, with an open palm cupping her jaw and holding her firm, a thumb pressing to her lower lip.  She moans, flicking her tongue against the pad of his finger, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling his opposite hand curling and digging into her side.  His mouth is hot, trailing kisses against her throat and shoulder. 

There’s a laughter that bubbles behind her teeth, and she licks his thumb again, coaxing it between her lips.  Closing her mouth around it, she hums until she feels his teeth nipping at her neck, his other hand sliding under her shirt.  Against her, Ren is breathing deeply, fingers toying at the underwire of her bra, before slipping around her back.  His palm shifts, fingers digging and pinching until she feels it release, and she dips her head back, his thumb sliding free.

“One hand?  Impressive,” she remarks, fighting a grin as his hands hike the body of her shirt up, clumsily catching the straps as well until he’s pulling both shirt and bra off before tossing them aside.  In less than a handful of moments, she has gone from completely clothed to almost entirely bare, but she’s never felt taller, or prouder.

“You, and your damn mouth,” he hisses, but the glint in his eye softens his resolve, and he’s kissing her hard, and deep, pushing his tongue between the seam of her lips.  She tastes his coffee from that morning, and a vague and dying flavor of toothpaste.  Moaning, she pulls him forward, his clothed-chest hot on her bare skin, and she thinks she also tastes berries. 

Tangling a hand into his hair again, she meets his tongue, teeth bumping as his groans buzz against her mouth.  His hands roam, cutting along her sides before circling and reaching to palm her ass.  She feels the bite of nails, and gasps against him.

She doesn’t stop the whimper that leaves her when he pulls back, and further struggles to remain standing when he peppers her skin in not-so-gentle nips.  Ren trails them down her throat, over her collarbones, dipping in front of her to drag his tongue along the swell of her breasts, his hands coming to cup them.  Moaning, Rey arches into his hold, shivering as his fingers brush and tease her skin before rolling and pinching her nipples to firmness. 

Tremors are racing down her spine, and Ren continues his deft assault on her breasts as his lips return to her throat, marking the space where she can feel her own pulse.  Shaking under his hold, Rey moans and sighs, greedily returning the kiss he slants across her mouth.  His hands give her a firm, lasting squeeze before he’s wrapping her up and lifting her off her feet, carrying her away from the door.

The apartment rushes by in a blur of hardwoods and marble, fading behind her as Ren nudges the door of his bedroom open with a foot.  He crosses, unceremoniously dumping her onto the bed, and she’s laughing into a white and black comforter before his hands come back to her once more, sliding along her calves and over her thighs.  Wiggling under his touch, she withdraws, bringing her knees in and earning and a groan from him.

“Strip,” she breathes, watching him closely.  Ren’s eyes flicker, first over her near-naked body, before finally meeting her gaze.  They’re black, consuming and desperate, but he obeys her at once by stepping away from the bed.

He drops the tie, first, at the edge, and Rey lowers her knees, spreading her feet to show the cotton and lace.  There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost like a smile, and she can see the tip of his tongue flash along the lower line of his lip.  His fingers start at the buttons at his throat, sparing no more than a second for each of them.  All the while, his eyes are on her, unblinking and unwavering.

Smirking, Rey drags a hand along the inside of her thigh, fingers teasing the seam of her underwear.  Hiking his shirt from the waist of his still-unbuttoned-trousers, Ren eases himself from it, letting it drop to the floor and out of sight.  His birthmarks are dark against his skin, stars mapped into the broad stretch of his shoulders, and Rey can remember tracing them, connecting them.  Her fingers slide over the cotton, eager to touch.

Ren brings his hands to his hips, inching the trousers further down until they fall, first bunched around his knees, before he carefully kicks and steps out of them.  His briefs are black, form fitting, and betraying his arousal.  Chuckling, Rey circles her fingers, pressing firmly to her clit through the fabric, a spike of pleasure rushing through and pulling a moan from her.

The bed dips, and Rey looks just in time to see Ren crawling, ducking his head between her knees to kiss her thighs.  Moaning, she lets them fall open a little more, leaning back on her elbows as his breath caresses her skin, washing over the cotton like worship.  Her core is tight, hot, something humming beneath the surface that itches to be felt and known. 

Ren places another kiss, closer this time to the seam, and Rey is certain he can feel her shaking, can taste her desire, and her fingers dig and tangle into the fabric of the comforter as Ren brushes his mouth over the lace edges.  He teases, she knows, but even then the anticipation is enough to make her want to squirm, scream, and beg.  Faltering some, Rey lays back, rolling her hips just enough when she feels his tongue tracing the pattern.

“Fuck,” she moans, arching as she feels him flick his tongue against her again.  “Ren…”

“Say my name,” his voice is hard, cutting clearer than the beams of light washing through the open windows to the left.  A breath leaves her, and she smirks, steeling herself long enough to maintain her demeanor even with his face between her thighs.

“Earn it.”

Were she to look, she might have seen the smolder turn white-hot.

He crawls up along her body, then, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck.  Humming, she tilts her head to the side, lengthening her throat as his hands wander, dipping and pressing at her sides.   There’s a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, a shiver coiling as she feels the barest hint of his tongue on her skin.

And then at once the smile is gone.

His bite is hard, wide and demanding, and she gasps before the pain bubbles and burns immediately to pleasure.  She jerks, clinging to him as her eyes roll back, and then he’s sucking, the breath that she’s choking on falling from her lips in stuttered whimpers.  His hands at her sides are digging so deep she’s certain she’ll bruise. 

Amidst the fog that’s coiling around her spine and washing over her like an ocean, she thinks of that—bruises from his fingers, his teeth, his scars bearing fresh red-welt-counterparts from her own nails.  She moans loudly, feeling him bite into a new spot just left of the first, and her nails find ground in his shoulder.

She hears him grunt into her throat, his tongue tracing the reddened patches of teeth marks.  Sliding her free hand between them, Rey slips her fingers under the seams, the slickness of her arousal already dampening the curls that grace her.  Ren plants his mouth against her collarbone, leaving a trail of smaller bites there, his fingers dragging over her skin and into the lace and cotton, pulling her underwear down her hips and thighs. 

Moaning again, she lets him strip her completely, fingers swirling circles around her clit as he sucks a bruise above her heart.  Heat blossoms beneath each bite, her pulse magnified under each indentation, and she shivers as pleasure spikes and burns in her center, licking its way along her veins.

His hand is on hers, pressing her touch violently into her clit, and Rey cries out as the sensations whiten the edges of her vision, something like static shrieking beneath the reverberation of her desire.  Ren’s mouth drags, pressing languidly to her breast before taking her nipple between his lips.  He sucks gently, at first, earning quiet gasps and mewls, but then he’s taking her in a bigger mouthful, biting in the flesh, still holding her hand firmly between her legs.

Cursing, Rey’s hand slips, skating along her folds until the heel of her palm is wedged tight against her nerves, and a shudder rips itself through her limbs.  She’s certain there are stars, and Ren’s tongue is pressed flat and hot against her nipple, his teeth dipping deeper and deeper until she’s certain he’s going to make her bleed.  Clenching her jaw, she arches, grinding into their hands, dipping her fingers into her cunt.

His name is on the tip of her tongue, but she lets it fall with an incoherent sigh, masked with an immediate choked cry as his mouth lavishes her other breast.  His fingers curl at her wrist, pulling her hand away from her legs.  She doesn’t fight, moaning breathily as Ren pins her arms above her head, pressing her wrists into the pillows. 

Moving away from her chest, Ren drags a kiss against her jaw, his breath hot on her throat.  “Say it,” he insists.

Arching, Rey moans quietly.  “No.”

His hand tightens around her wrists.  “ _Rey_.”

“Maybe you should ask nicely,” she smirks, eyeing him in the glow of the afternoon.  There’s a smile that flirts at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes are dangerously wide.

“Wouldn’t you like that.” 

“I might.  I might also like to scream myself hoarse.  Either way, you’re gonna have to work for it.”

She gets a rugged laugh from him, and his free hand brushes over the marks that are swelling and turning a deeper shade of red.  Shivering, she hears the gasp roll from her tongue and between her lips, and his eyes flicker over her again.  There’s a lingering kind of sin in the depths of his eyes, bearing so far into her soul that she trembles from the inside out.  His fingers creep along the curve of her breast, nails scraping lightly into the marks his teeth have left behind.  Rey gasps again, body involuntarily bowing under his grace.

His fingers uncurl, releasing her arms as he dips his head, his mouth touching over a rib, and she’s certain he douses her skin in fire.  It blooms and spreads from the breath that pours from him to her, licking along her lines and weaving between her nerves, sinking so low into her bones that she falls open for him, whimpering quietly in the still air. 

The kisses are gentle, if not a touch hungry, the barest traces of teeth accompanying everything second or third that tickle her body.  He paves a path down her stomach, and back and forth across her hips, fresh bouts of bliss coming and going with the tide that swells, abates, and returns again within her.  Rey arches, sighing between her teeth as his hands palm her thighs, spreading her wide, his mouth covering her clit.

The sound that leaves her is shamelessly feverish, her knees jerking close to his head.  Bringing a hand to an abused breast, Rey shivers under her own grasp as her opposite stretches down, sliding into Ren’s hair.  His own admission of satisfaction hums quietly along her folds, and she feels fire pooling in the base of her spine.

She expects something calculated, something practiced, or some kind of familiarity to the memory that’s burned in the back of her mind of the last time his face was between her thighs.  But, and perhaps she’ll reflect later, in a better state of mind, she should know better than to expect anything other than surprises from Kylo Ren.  And, if nothing else, she should know—and will remember of this in her consumed state—that desperate and _hungry_ men will do anything to please for the sake of earning reciprocated satisfaction.

What she earns is something she cannot even begin to describe, the precise suckling of her folds coupled with open kisses decadently placed on and around her clit.  His arms are tucked under and around, lifting her hips enough that he can treat her cunt like a desert, kissing and devouring her with an enthusiasm that sears and cuts her to the bone, leaving nothing but raw ecstasy in the wake.  His fingers dip, dig, press and massage her hips, sinking when his tongue slides deep and relaxing to the grace of feathers when he teases. 

And Rey can only cling to him, pulling his hair and letting him have her as her moans crescendo into cries, and eventually screams.  Her legs, trembling and entirely independent in their euphoria, have hooked themselves over his shoulders, keeping him close and tight.  Stars are filtering over the black backdrop of her subconscious, her eyes screwed shut as the fire roars up her spine and along her every inch.

She curses, sputtering, clenching as his tongue slides deep inside of her cunt once more.  There’s a fluttering panic that twitches and spasms in her gut, her nails scraping his scalp as she pulls at his hair.  He groans into her skin, pressing his mouth firmly to her sex, thrusting his tongue as deep and hard as he can, the tip of his wide nose brushing her clit occasionally.

Clenching her jaw, Rey arches again, fisting the comforter beneath her as her body shakes.  His name, cracking on the second syllable, flies off her tongue, as fervent and abruptly consuming as her orgasm then becomes.

She doesn’t see herself make a mess of his face, or the way he greedily laps every drop of her up without fail.  She doesn’t see the crazed gleam in his eye when he licks his lips, blinking away the static that permeates in her bones, catching only the shadow of him before he’s kissing her hard and fast, his hips grinding hard into her own.

Her hands find his shoulders, pressing and digging until she’s scratching down to his lower back, clawing at the waist of his briefs to tug them down.  They fumble, all but tearing them away, and Rey loops her legs around his hips as soon as he tosses the offending fabric off the bed.

She thinks she hears him say her name, but the pounding in her ears muffles anything other than her own blinding want and need of him.  She can feel him, erect against the inside of her thigh, and she cranes her neck to kiss him once more, moaning loudly against his lips.  His hand comes to her face, first, cradling and caressing as she sucks on his lower lip, her own nails retracing their path back up the center of his back.

There’s a press and a push, and Rey feels the head of Ren’s cock inching into her, slow and delicate.  Groaning, she snaps a hand to his hair, pulling hard; he shouts into her jaw, teeth biting at the edge as he jerks his hips, slamming hard and fully into her.  White flashes over her vision, the sudden stretch on the right edge of too sharp and painful, but then she’s moaning, tightening her legs around him as his head dips, his mouth claiming the space between her neck and shoulder.

His rhythm is tilted, not as fast as she might have preferred but with all the force he can muster, the roll in his hips shifting the angle of his cock.  He rubs her right, the heat between them melting into her soul and pulling curses mixed with his name.  She begs, arching and pulling, raking her nails along the scars that decorate his shoulder and side, white-hot marks decorating her flesh where his mouth is planted.

Panting softly, his hands take a leg from his waist, bringing it along his chest, her ankle over his shoulder, and he goes deeper still into her.  Crying out, Rey wants to look, wants to watch his face, his hands on her, his cock sinking into her like she was made for him.  But rapture is consuming her wholly, and she just wants to be pliable to his demands, good for his hunger, and there’s something like a prayer that’s bubbling and buzzing behind her teeth. 

She swallows it with a groan, tightening around him until his hand comes back to her face. 

“Look at me,” his voice is an octave lower than she’s ever heard it, and when she blinks to meet his stare, the brown is an endless void of black, his brows furrowed and lips parted, wanton and primal.  He thrusts hard, and Rey cries out again.

Gritting her teeth, she brings a hand to that on her face, her fingers wrapping around his wrist.  His eyes don’t leave her, his hips snapping hard enough for the sound to reverberate, coupled with rugged gasps and stuttered moans.  She pulls his hand from her face, bringing his fingers to her throat.

Her name soars on a groan, the darkness in his eyes faltering briefly, but he must see something in her face, some kind of matched corruption that stamps out the hesitation.  He doesn’t squeeze, just holds, but comes in to crush her in a kiss that’s more teeth than lip.  She whines into his mouth, her fingers slotting between his.

But then he’s pulling out, letting her leg fall, and a blind fury washes over as she reaches for him, clawing and swiping and desperate for him to fill her again—how _dare he_ leave her like this now?  His hands cup her, his mouth quelling her curses before he brings her to her knees.  She lets him move her, the fingertips pressing hard and deep with an intent to claim, and she feels her nerves singing hymns.  He presses behind her, shifting her until she sinks on him again, her back arching from his chest. 

Sighing, she settles against him as he rolls his hips, feeling his hands sliding along her body.  One comes to rest along her hip, fingers tipped toward her groin as the other wraps over the front of her throat again.  His kiss is burned into her shoulder, a hard nip of teeth serving as her only warning before he’s thrusting hard and deep, his fingers tightening around her throat.

Her first instinct is to try to breathe, and when it comes weak and suppressed, a new kind of ecstasy washes through her every fiber.  Ren’s mouth is peppering her in bites, small by comparison to those that encompass her breasts and decorate her sternum and throat, but his fingers are driving her insane.  He gives her increments—a handful of seconds without air, a precious few with, and back again, and between rasping breaths she’s blubbering his name as if it were holy.

His opposite hand slides, pressing to the nerves, the center of her pleasure, and she screams, white and static flushing over her.  Her legs are shaking, her body melting and failing against him as he thrusts.  Palming her hands over his, Rey adds to the pressure against her clit and her throat, and Ren all but slams into her, wild and erratic until white noise consumes her, and she’s certain she screams his name so loudly her voice cracks.

She can feel him still going, his hands tight and hard on her skin, and even as it dips into the edge of painful, her mind is beating a mantra of _don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop_.  Rey isn’t sure if she’s speaking, but then she’s gasping under their palms, body shaking as a second wave overtakes her, the tether that’s been a part of her for so long vibrating like a chord.  She feels him thrust, shouting her name into the back of her neck, wet heat filling her core. 

Her eyes widen, euphoria blanketing her from head to toe as Ren thrusts a few more times before stilling behind her, panting into her skin.  His fingers relax, dropping slightly from her throat.  Her own remains with his, bringing it around, and he holds her as the trembling abates to bliss.  She lays her head back against his shoulder, tilting to look at him for a moment before he slants a kiss against the corner of her mouth.

Sensations, Rey determines, are fickle and funny things.  When she closes her eyes, she’s only vaguely aware of Ren pulling out, more so by the lack of him filling her.  But there’s still that heat, warm and thick, inside of her, and she’s clenching to keep it inside until she’s laid flat. 

Next, she feels the pinch of the bites, the scratches, the places where Ren dug into her without remorse or care.  They burn, stretching and opening anew when she moves.  She thinks about pressing to them, igniting their intentions once more, and if she didn’t know better than to touch now, she would have done so, would have brought a hand to her cunt.

She can still feel him, every thrust, touch, bite, kiss, and every word he pressed into her skin, even if she can’t quite hear it.  Her eyes are closed, and she revels in the moments, the air warm and safe around her.  She feels the bed dip, something like water running, and then there’s a coolness that’s tracing her skin.  Rey sighs into it, feeling it drag along her legs and hips, barely more than a caress over her breasts and shoulders.  She feels it against her cunt, and closes her legs.

“No,” it’s weak, exhausted, but there’s a hand on her thigh.  “No, leave it.”

She feels it anyway, a quick swipe of wet cloth to clean her folds and her thighs, before the bed dips again.  She’s asleep before she hears the water running once more.

 

* * *

 

When Rey opens her eyes, the room around her is dark and cool.  Recognizing it’s not hers, she lets out a quiet breath, something like a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.  A sheet is drawn over her, haphazardly tucked around her torso, and she can see the glow of the city through thin, sheer drapes.  Breathing slowly, she shifts, rolling away from the light.  She reaches out with a hand, sliding it along the sheet until she touches the pillow next to her, cold, fluffed and unused, with an empty half of the bed at her back.

She stares at it, letting her hand trail from the pillow to the sheet.  The door to the bedroom is closed, and from her vantage point she can’t see any light other than from the windows.  Swallowing thickly, she rolls onto her back before sitting up slowly.  Her muscles and bones ache, a tenderness between her thighs that pulls her brows in, a wince curling her lip.  Sliding off the bed, she walks across the hardwoods and into the bathroom, blinking back the glow of the light when she flips the switch.  In the mirror she sees herself, hair disheveled and hanging into a mangled knot, the dark circles under her eyes no better than they’d been that morning. 

The rest of her, however, is another story.

Her throat is a cacophony of bruises, shades of pink and deep red that she knows will darken to purple and black in the shapes of teeth marks, patches, and fingertips coloring from beneath her jaw to her collarbones, fanning over towards the tops of her shoulders.  There are matching sets surrounding each nipple, the indents swollen so much that when she touches them, the welts are raised and tender, and she gasps under the sensation.

Her waist and hips are just as discolored, promising the history of fingers and hands, nearly every inch of her branded.  Rey’s gaze sweeps over each mark, lingering on them as she relishes in the memory of their making.  She wants to feel proud, to feel worthy of them.  But the dark of the bedroom beyond the threshold, and the emptiness of the bed leaves something uncertain in her gut.  The longer she stares at them, the more hideous they become.

Swallowing thickly, she turns the faucet on, splashing cool water on her face.  Beads fleck and roll across the fresh marks, and she sighs as the heat sizzles and calms.  Twisting the knob, she shuts it off, drying her face on a nearby towel before pulling her hair from the knot.  Instead of replacing it, she detangles her hair, and slides the band around her wrist.

Slipping out from the bathroom, she manages to find the switch to the overhead light.  Glancing around the room, a pile of clothes—her clothes—catches her eye, neatly folded and sitting on the bedside table next to where she’d been laying.  On top of them are her pearls, clasped, warm under the glow. 

The disquiet in her gut grows as she steps forward, reaching out to touch them with her fingers.  They’re cool, clean, and she tightens her grip around them until she hears the chain straining.  Bringing her fist to her face, she squeezes her eyes shut, clenching her jaw to fight the wave of emotions that threaten to tear a cry from her throat.  Beneath her bruised and blemished chest, her heart hurts.

She ignores the pile of her clothes, placing the pearls back over them, before turning and eyeing the room once more.  She sees a door beside the bathroom threshold, and practically stomps to it.  Ripping it open, she finds a walk-in wardrobe, and steps inside.  Suits and ties line one wall, while shirts and other assorted garments line the opposite.  Filtering through them, she finds a simple, casual button up, the material worn and soft. 

Pulling it over her shoulders, she buttons the front of the shirt, leaving the collar and down to her cleavage exposed.  Storming from the wardrobe, she filters through the pile of her clothing to find her underwear—also folded.  Sliding into them, she has to force herself to breathe, for her hands are trembling and her heart is beating so fervently that her skin aches. 

Inhaling slowly, she turns off the light, and opens the bedroom door. 

The rest of the apartment is no brighter than the bedroom.  There’s the light above the island of the kitchen that’s lit, casting a warm glow across the floor.  The windows by the small round dining table are open, and the fireplace is glowing across the space.  She has to blink and squint to see his dark hair against the backdrop of shadows.  His back is to her, dressed in what looks like a t-shirt.  He doesn’t turn, or see to acknowledge her at all, when she walks forward.

“Kylo?”  She calls, her voice on the edge of hoarse and weak.  Swallowing again, she comes to the back of the couch that he’s sitting on, reaching out to slide a hand over his shoulder.

On the table in front of him, she notices a folder with her name on it.  Frowning softly, she opens her mouth to speak, but Ren lets out a breath, lowering his hand as he swallows.  The light of the fire glints off a tumbler in his grasp.

“That’s your contract with me, and with First Order.  If you’d like, I can dispose of it.  But I wanted to wait for your permission, first.”

Blinking slowly, Rey opens and closes her mouth, before licking the corner of it.  “I don’t understand.”

“I’m offering you a proper fresh start.  You don’t need my guidance, anymore, if you’d rather not have it.  I think you’d be good with Maz—she could teach you things I can’t.”  He’s not looking at her, and he sounds even farther away as she watches him lift the glass again, taking another sip from it. 

Shaking her head, she rounds the couch to face him, frowning deeply.  “What is this, what are you talking about?”

He doesn’t look at her, dark eyes glued to the flames.  They glow in the depths, and even in this moment she thinks he’s beautiful.  “How did it happen?  You, and your husband?”

She balks at him, letting her hand slide from his shoulder. 

“Does it matter?”  She asks, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Of _course_ it matters,” it’s harder than she’s ever heard, and his eyes carry something in them that twists hot like a knife in her core.  “It absolutely does, Rey.  The two of you had history, a whole life, you’d built everything you have _together_.  That doesn’t go away.  That doesn’t change overnight.”

“It _didn’t_ change overnight, Kylo,” she cuts, feeling venom burning her tongue.  “It’s not, exactly, uncommon for people to fall out of love, but—I don’t get it.  What’s gotten into you?”

“I just,” he hesitates, shaking his head.  He goes to bring his drink to his lips and she lashes, grabbing his wrist.  His eyes are wide when he stares at her, and she sets the blasted thing down on the table.

“ _Talk_ to me.  Don’t drink.”

There’s a beat, and the marks on her skin are burning.

“We shouldn’t have.”

She straightens, staring hard at him until her knees tremble and weaken.  Blindly, she reaches for the edge of the table, sinking down onto it so that she doesn’t fall.  Her knees brush his, and he lowers his gaze away from her.  At her back, the fire crackles and pops, and sweat is gathering in her hairline. 

Opening her mouth to speak, she can’t even squeeze a breath, and she stumbles as her tongue feels too heavy, too large.  Looking away, she blinks back the sting in the corners of her eyes, feeling ice folding in at the edges of her core. 

“You know how I feel about you,” he continues, and she shakes her head.

“Do I?”  There’s a scoff under the words, and they’re colder than she intends.  But her heart can’t decide if it wants to suffocate her or drop to her feet.  In her peripheral, she sees his head lift, but doesn’t acknowledge him.  His shirt feels heavy on her skin.

“Rey,” he breathes.  “Please, don’t—I’m sorry.  But your husband _just_ …”

“Just, _what_ , Ren?”  She looks to him, now, his image blurred.  “Just left?  Just walked out with little more than a goodbye, despite ‘everything’ we’ve built?  Is that what you wanted to hear?  That he left me?”

His eyes are wide, and he’s shaking his head, speechless.  “I didn’t—”

“Or did you think I left him?  Would that be easier, if that’s how it happened?  Maybe you want to hear that he wasn’t good enough for me anymore, because that’s what he would say.  Or that he wasn’t confident that I cared about his opinions for the shop anymore, _never mind_ how many nights I assured him this was a team effort.  But _no_ , ‘there’s no I in team unless it’s yours, right Rey’?”  There’s fire riling up and spreading from her chest to the tips of her fingers, brimming on the edge of her tongue, but her gut is freezing over.  She’s trembling, she realizes, and she knots her fingers into the fabric of the sleeves.

“Rey…”

“Then _what_ is it?  What do you want me to say, Ren?”

“I need to know that you’re okay.”

“That I’m _okay_?”  She raises an eyebrow, and she thinks she sees him flinch.  “It’s fine, yeah, really.  _I’m fine_.  Yeah, you’re probably thinking that we shouldn’t have fucked because I’m emotional, and that this is all really difficult and I just needed some company.  And you’re probably right.  I’m sure I probably needed that.  Why wouldn’t I want affection and to feel wanted when my partner of ten-plus-fucking-years decides to leave.  But I’ll be damned if that’s all I admit to, because that’s not all there is.  I came to your office because I wanted to see _you_ , I wanted to know that everything was happening for the _right_ reasons.  I wanted to know that despite all of this I still had a clear path for what I _intend_ to continue doing.  I was so _fucking_ unsure, but then you walked in, said ‘morning’, and I _finally felt_ _sure_.”

“Rey, please,” he tries to interject, and she shakes her head, clumsy fingers wiping hot tears away.  She stands, her knees knocking against his as she moves away from the fireplace, away from the couch, and him, and toward the cooler half of the apartment.  Even then, her heart is jamming itself behind her teeth.

“Y’know, it’s not like his leaving was some out-of-the-blue-happenstance.  We’ve been fighting for months, I’m sure both of us suspected something would happen sooner or later.  He wasn’t happy with what we were doing, and I wasn’t happy we weren’t doing more, and we just hit a wall with each other.  And I came to you because, I thought, if nothing else, you could help ground me in what I know is right.”  The words are falling out without much more than a thought, and she can hear him shuffling off the couch and following her.  “I didn’t expect for this to happen, I didn’t expect to wind up here, but I’m not fucking sorry that I did.  I don’t regret any of this, but clearly _you_ do, so shame on me, right?  Shame on me for thinking you felt something for me, for thinking that when you kissed me at the gala and then today at your office, never mind all these marks, that it meant something _real—_ ”

“It’s _real_ , Rey, please, just look at me—”

She’s beyond listening, though, her heart racing a thousand miles in her throat, blood pulsing beneath each bite and bruise and making them scream in her skin. 

“No, I need to—I can’t, Kylo.  I just need you—” but words are failing her, now, and she’s not sure whether she wants to rage at him, or hide away in the dark somewhere and grieve.  She makes to leave, turning for the door, because for all that she's suffered already, this is too much, too hard, and she just wants to go.

“Damnit, Rey, _stop_!”  His hands are on her, turning her around.

“No, don’t, _fucking—_ ” she lashes, trying to hit him, but she breaks, and he catches her hands.  Choking on a sob, she crumples against him, feeling his mouth on her fingers, kissing her palms as he always does, before his thumbs are wiping away her tears.  He holds her close, stroking her hair when she buries her face against his chest.  “Why didn’t you stay with me?”

He doesn’t answer her right away, and her gut is churning painfully.  Pulling back again, she fumbles in his arms.  “Why weren’t you there?”  She presses, sniffling as she drags a hand through her hair, pulling strands and bangs from her wet face.

“I was afraid I’d made a mistake,” he tells her, his own cheeks streaked and red.  “After everything—seven months of being everything but subtle about how I felt, I didn’t want to be the reason you two…  I couldn’t.  I care _so much_ for you, and I know how far your ambitions and dreams go, and I didn’t want to be the reason that fell apart.  I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“And you thought leaving me alone was better?”  She hisses, stepping further away.  He lets her, but he’s still within reach.  “You weren’t… you weren’t the only reason, Kylo.  Was he jealous?  Yeah, he was.  But all of this—why he left—it wasn’t because of you.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, slumping against the edge of the marble-top island.  “I just…  I was selfish.  I thought if I stayed, I’d be ignoring everything you have, and I couldn’t.  That’s important to you, Rey, and I didn’t want you thinking that it wasn’t important to me, too.”

“Is it?  To you?”  She asks, swallowing slowly as she wipes her face on the sleeve of the shirt. 

“Yes,” it’s immediate, and his eyes are wide and full.  “ _You_ , and everything you are, and have, and want, and need…  You are _everything_ to me.  He thought I was trying to buy you away, and I—I am selfish in my feelings for you, but I’m not… I respect what you two have— _had_ , fuck…”  He bows his head, shaking it as the words fail him, and Rey crosses her arms over her chest, shielding the hammering of her heart.  “I didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

“You didn’t,” she whispers, feeling fresh tears clinging to the corners of her eyes.  They don’t burn quite the same way, and relief is chipping away at ice, quelling fire.  He doesn’t look up at her, not yet.  “We’ve been fighting for so long that, when you came along and pulled us out of debt… it just gave him another thing to complain about.”

“You just seemed so happy.”

She snorts, stepping forward some.  Reaching out, she takes his hand, stroking the back of it with her thumb.  “I was.  Because of you.  You gave me a chance—an _opportunity_.  I had the shop, I molded it from the ground up.  And you were there with me.  And you continued to give me opportunities, Kylo.  And when you walked away, I followed _you_.”

This catches his attention, and he lifts his head to look at her, brow furrowed.  Before he has a chance to speak, she continues.  “At the gala—I saw you talking to him.  I saw him grab you, and you walked away.  He noticed me, begged me to go to him.  I didn’t.  I went after you.”

“And I kissed you.”  He says.  A smile flirts at the corner of her mouth.  She takes another step, toe to toe with him, and his hand slips and curls at her waist.

“And I kissed you back, knowing exactly what it meant.  What, I hope, it means _now_.”

His eyes find hers, firm and warm.  “I love you.”

Rey cannot contain her grin even in the face of the agony still buzzing in her blood, dipping her head against his chest as something within her just _sings_.  “I know,” she whispers, shaking some before she tips her head to meet his gaze.  “And I love you, too.  And yeah, this is going to be hard.  We’ve a lot to learn.  But I know what I feel, right now, for you, and I lost that feeling for him a long time ago.”

He pulls her in, arms wrapping themselves around her waist, and she sighs into his chest.  Clinging to him, Rey presses her ear to the rhythm of his heart until she can feel her own begin to match it, a gentle thrumming that eases out the tension in her bones.  She is exhausted and tender, a nerve opened and struck raw, but the edges of it are softening, soothed by his breath that washes against her hairline before his lips touch her skin.

It won’t be simple, she knows this.  But Rey can’t and has never been able to imagine a time where it has been.  She tucks herself closer to him, drinking in the smell of cologne, of his skin, and there’s a ringing in her bones that is eager to reach and dip into him again, to feel him truly and properly in light of these confessions.  But she is content, all the same, to linger like this with him.  If nothing else, it feels _right_.

His nose brushes her temple, and when she lifts her head to look at him, she’s greeted by his mouth, instead, placing a gentle kiss along her lower lip.  Moaning quietly, she kisses him back, letting the chaste intent settle and sink, warm and delicate.  His hands wander at her hips, momentarily, before he’s smiling against her mouth.  She watches him duck, an arm sweeping under her knees and supporting her back before she’s lifted against his chest.

Gasping, Rey kicks her feet a little, looping an arm around his shoulders as he kisses her cheek.  Ren’s strides are long and careful as he carries her back toward the couch, before easing down into it.  Leaning into him, she rests her head against his shoulder as his hands adjust, one arm still around her back as the other drapes over her thighs, his palm rubbing circles into her bare skin. 

Humming, she kisses him again, earning a taste of his tongue as her fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck.  The waves are unruly, sticking out in a few different spots, but there’s something young and endearing, the light of the fireplace casting warm shadows across his face and chest.  She smiles, running her hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead and tucking it behind his ears. 

She’s trailing her finger along the lobe, her thumb against his jaw when he turns his head and kisses her palm, warm and closed.  Pursing her lips to hide her smile, she strokes his cheek, pulling him in for another kiss.  This time there’s no hesitation, and it lasts longer than its predecessors.  She tastes him, holding each touch for as long as possible, until she’s sure she has committed to memory the fullness of his mouth, the way he likes to duck his head and hold her as if she might slip away.

His forehead is pressed to hers, and she’s trailing her fingers along his jaw when his breath fans her face, his words low and nearly inaudible.  “I’m sorry.  I should’ve stayed with you.  In bed.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” she aims to chastise, but the tone is too light, and her smile is too obvious.  Even then his own grin tickles her skin as he kisses her.  “Guess you’ll have to make it up to me and carry my back there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers.

 

* * *

 

“Are you a pancake or a waffle person?” 

She’s wearing one of his shirts again, underwear abandoned somewhere in the bedroom.  The ends hang and brush around the top of her thighs, sleeves rolled to her forearms.  She feels small and secure in it, and when his eyes rove over her, they darken immeasurably.  His smile remains light, and he goes back to fishing through the cupboards.

“Both,” he admits, pulling down a mixing bowl.  “You?”

“Waffles, but pancakes when the mood takes me.  French toast is good too.  Butter with a light sprinkle of powdered sugar?  Yes, please.”

Ren chuckles, his back to her.  Rey watches the muscles pull and shift in his bare back, and she just wants to reach out and touch.  “I like sugar and syrup on them.”

“Isn’t that too sweet?” 

“Not sweet enough,” he muses, carrying the bowl with the batter-mix bag tucked inside.  “But I’ve always had a sweet tooth, hasn’t changed, even now in my thirties.”

“You’re in your thirties?”  Rey presses, mocking a frown, her nose scrunched.  Ren rolls his eyes, and smiles, before reaching into a cupboard beneath the island for a stainless steel waffle-iron.

“Yeah, I know, I’m _old_.”  He huffs, setting the heavy thing aside before measuring out the powdered mix.  Rey snorts, leaning against the countertop of the island.  The shirt pulls open a little further, the red collage across her throat and chest a blossoming blue and purple.

“I like older men anyway.”

The look he gives her tingles beneath her skin, lingering on the marks.

“If you’d like to be of some assistance, I have syrup in the cupboard if you’d like to warm it.”  He nods to it, and she laughs again, brushing passed him.  She doesn’t make it far before feeling his hand swatting lightly against her bare ass, fingers cupping her cheek until she steps too far away.  Throwing him a wink over her shoulder, she reaches for the handle, opening the door before finding the bottle.

There’s a comfortable silence that falls over them as Rey finds a small serving dish, pouring some of the syrup into it to be warmed.  At the island, Ren has mixed the batter with water until it’s thick, his deft hand utilizing the whisk until the lumps are small and nearly indistinguishable from air bubbles.  The iron is prepped and ready, plates set aside with silverware nearby. 

Setting the dish into the microwave and starting a thirty-second interval, Rey turns and dips her finger into the inside of the bottle of syrup before pressing her tongue to the glaze.  Behind her, she hears the waffle iron hiss.  Tasting it with a quiet hum, she leans back against the counter beside Ren, savoring it briefly.

“Did you just?”

She hums again, and returns her finger to the inside of the bottle where syrup still clings to the walls.  When she withdraws, a thick stream follows, trailing along the length of her finger and down to where it meets the top of her palm.  Raising her eyes to his, she finds his brown eyes nearly consumed black, and she doesn’t bother hiding her amusement as she trails her tongue along her skin.  The microwave beeps.

With her finger in her mouth and syrup clinging to her bottom lip, Rey blinks once, mustering all the strength and power she can to seem even remotely bashful before garbling a full-mouthed, “Wha?”

His hands are reaching for her, pulling at the front of his shirt as it hangs loosely from her shoulders.  With a laugh she lets herself be pulled forward, willing herself to remain standing as his mouth peppers her tender skin.  Her hand is still sticky, a few spots of syrup still clinging to her finger.  But he’s tasting it on her lips, first, and she moans into his mouth as his fingers curl around her wrist. 

Rey feels him pull back, watching with widening eyes as he brings her hand forward.  His gaze is locked on her, primal and hungry as he kisses her fingers, tasting her skin, sticky sweet and slick from her own mouth.  And she can feel her heart beating up into the bites and bruises, the heat of them flushing white-hot as he slips her fingers into his mouth to clean her fully of the sweetness left behind. 

And his eyes are dark, heavy and demanding something from her that she knows she would be all too happy to give.  All he would need to do is ask it of her.  She can feel the compliance, the complete and total acceptance welling in the back of her throat, accompanied with the moan that threatens to seize her as he sucks softly on her fingers.  Only then do his eyes close, eyelashes thick and contrasting to the pallor of his cheeks.

She’s still immobile, even now when he’s not looking at her.  Pliant under his touch, she lets out a breath when his hands find her hips, and he only pulls his mouth away to keep from biting her as he lifts her onto the counter’s edge.  His dark eyes are on her once more, focused intently to the point that Rey nearly squirms, his palms trailing along her sides until his fingers fumble at the button loosely keeping her breasts covered.  Behind him, the microwave chirps again.

Ren sighs, something like amusement and frustration fluttering over his face before he tips his head and rests his forehead against her shoulder.  Laughing quietly, Rey brings a dry hand to his hair, stroking the locks, tucking a few of them behind his ear.  He makes to move, to pull from her again, and she tucks her legs at his waist, hooking her ankles together behind his back. 

The front tails of the shirt do very little to cover her cunt. 

“Rey, if you don’t let me go, it’ll just keep beeping.”  He protests, but the words are weak.  She smirks.

“Let it.”

“The waffles will, also, burn.”

“We can make more.”

“I’d rather not have the apartment burn, as well.  Living spaces are not so easily replaced as waffles.”

Rey huffs, untangling her legs and letting them fall, but she keeps her thighs spread, earning a disgruntled sound from somewhere within Kylo Ren’s broad chest.  He turns away to the microwave, reaching in to test the heat of the syrup.  Rey, grateful for the reprieve, as well as for only doing three of the buttons that morning, pops the others with ease, letting the shirt fall open. 

She leans back some, kicking her feet some as the fabric sags off her shoulders slightly, on the verge of falling and draping around her elbows.  Across the island, the waffles are starting to smell overdone, but she just waits with bated breath, her eyes fixed on the spot between Ren’s shoulder blades.  His hair is tousled, sticking up in funny places in the back, and when he turns, she thinks she can see herself in his eyes, the depths of them blown black and glassy.

Rey knows the way she looks—throat, chest, and shoulders mottled with affection from the day before, nipples darkened with bites and bruises.  There are scattered marks that decorate her sides, fingertip-shapes in her hips and thighs.  The curls covering the mound of her sex are a shade darker than the hair that hangs in messy, knotted waves around her face, slightly unruly from letting them grow.  And she’s kicking her legs like a child but looking at him with a smirk that is anything but childish.

Were she to ask Ren what his first thought was, she would not have gotten an answer.  But she doesn’t have to, because he’s haphazardly setting the hot dish of syrup aside, reaching past her to fumble with the cord to the waffle-iron before his lips are nearly smashing against her mouth.  There’s a clatter of the cord falling, the over-cooked batter no longer a risk of catching fire as her skin does, instead, stars filtering over her eyes as she feels his hands on her breasts, fingers digging and scraping lightly at the bruises there.

Then he’s pulling her forward, and she’s momentarily grateful for his height, because he’s fumbled his way out of his sleep-pants, rubbing the swelling head of his dick against her folds.  Gasping quietly, Rey clings and curls her fingers over the cool edge of the countertop, groaning as Ren pushes and fills her almost immediately.  The stretch burns, a dull ache simmering beneath her skin and deep in her bones. 

He thrusts once, testing the waters, and her breath hitches somewhere in the back of her throat with a quiet yelp of pain.  Ren’s nails are still digging, still bleeding into the violet blossoms that Rey can only imagine spreading and stretching further across her skin.  Gritting her teeth, she maintains her grip on the counter with one hand, latching the other around the back of his neck to bring his head up for a kiss that knocks her teeth and aches in her jaw.  But then he’s moaning, humming against her lips as he rocks into her.  Her skin is stuck to the counter, the cool top unforgiving to her blistering flesh, but the angle and the way he’s thrusting provide every opportunity for him to rub her in the right places where the pain meets the white-water river of pleasure.

Tilting her head back and away from his mouth, Rey digs her nails into his shoulder, moaning whorishly as he fucks her, only going as deep as the rounded counter’s edge will allow.  She can’t blame him for being a little careful, even if she wants him to go deeper, harder, fill her with everything he’s got until she knows nothing other than his name. 

The shifting makes the fabric of his shirt waver and slip from her shoulders, pooling around her elbows and wrists.  His hand circles from her hip and palms her lower back, holding her close and steady so that she can relinquish her digging grip on the counter’s edge, both arms wrapping around his shoulders.  The sleeves slip a little, an extra cocoon around them as Rey tangles her fingers into his hair, the other still raking into his shoulder and back as he slams into her, a little deeper than before. 

Ren presses his face to the side of her neck, peppering her first in kisses before nipping and suckling at the marks he’s left behind.  Sparks dance and weave between the vertebrae of her spine, slipping along her ribs and settling into her lungs until she’s panting against him, tightening around his cock.  Turning her head, she kisses the side of his face, before her teeth find the shell of his ear, holding as he thrusts into her again.  Pleasure spikes and warms her from the inside out, and the twisting in her core, the thrumming in her center that beats for him, only him, tells her she’s close.

“Ren,” she moans, her nails splicing new lines with old ones against his back.

“I know,” he breathes against a mark that makes her hiss, and she pulls his hair.  “Tell me what you need?”

“Oh, fuck…   _Harder_ ,” Rey begs, her heart beating so violently against her chest that it hurts beneath the bruises, the teeth, the weight of him over her, and yet it feels like bliss all the same.

In front of her, Ren groans deeply, and snaps his hips harder, the tips of his fingers digging into her lower back as he holds her.  Eyes screwing shut as the first shiver takes her from head to toe, Rey tightens again, tucking her legs around his waist to pull him in and keep him there, only stuttered thrusts and hard grinding serving as the solace for the ache that’s throbbing in her gut. 

It’s in a handful of moments, her fingers still in his hair and his burrowing so deep into her skin she’s almost convinced he’s trying to melt into her, that she comes under him from head to toe and back with a seemingly unending wave of pleasure that sings.  Somewhere along the way he’s dipped his head against her, kissing the skin above her pulse, and she can feel it stutter, shake, and slip into a rhythm that steadies and stills. 

Sighing, Rey sinks into him, letting her jellied limbs go lax, the warm and wet awareness of his release inside of her like a pleasant blanket over her core.  She gasps, stroking his hair, before kissing his temple.  Tremors are racing through her, buzzing lightly until they fade away with the press of his arms around her and pulling her closer. 

If possible, he buries deeper into her, his face tucked and hidden away into her hair and bruises.  The tether in her center strums faintly, heavy between them, and his breath is fanning along her skin like smoke.  Smiling some, Rey brushes her mouth along his hairline, breathing him in.   

“Fuck,” it’s muffled against her breast, and she huffs quietly.

“We just did.” 

“You’re impossible.”  He moans, and Rey dips her head to kiss his brow again.  His mouth is hot against her feverish skin, his sighs sinking beneath the surface and adding to her tremors.

“You love me.”

It’s his turn to laugh, and it buzzes against her throat.

“Yeah, I do.”

 

* * *

 

She’s got one of the last bites of waffle speared on her fork, dragging it through a small lake of syrup gathered on one side of her plate.  “Favorite color?”

He chuckles behind his coffee, setting the mug down.  “Purple.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rey regards him carefully.  “I would’ve pegged you for red, or black.”

He shakes his head as she takes her bite, chewing slowly.  They’ve brought trays in and are sprawled across the massive ocean of satin sheets and comforter, the remnants of their breakfast and their sex still like a pulsing high in the atmosphere, but they are the calm after the storm.  There’s a pleasantness in Rey’s bones as she swallows, reaching for her own small mug of tea, still steaming in ceramic.

“Maybe in my teens, sure,” Ren admits, setting his mug down before stabbing his own bite of waffle with his fork.  “As I got older, my tastes refined.”

She laughs quietly, looking up at him as the sunlight of the late morning pours through the windows behind him, casting warm shadows and warmer glows. 

“What’s yours?”

“Green,” she says at once.

“Green,” he mimics, watching her closely.  “It suits you.  Though, that dress you wore to the gala—”

“The purple one,” her mouth forms a wry smile, and he chuckles, dipping his head to hide his smile.

“You walked in and I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”  Ren’s voice is quiet, almost like a secret in the way his words become a whisper. 

“Because I was in purple?”  She teases, but when his eyes lift to hers the smile wavers, and something in her burns with honesty.

“No,” Ren’s eyes wander over her—still dressed in his shirt, still marked with his love, “I just…  You were certain.  Certain of your place, of your confidence in being in that room.  You belonged there, more than some of the others who’d been in attendance that night—people who’ve been a part of this world for years.  You were ready to take the next step, to move forward, to better what you’ve built.  And, yes, the dress was beautiful and you wear purple beautifully, but…” 

He trails off, and Rey can taste her heart on the back of her tongue, hardly for the first and certainly not the last time, either.  “But, what?”

“You seized the opportunity,” he says, not fully looking at her, but she knows he’s still aware of her, entirely.  “You didn’t shy away.  From the night, from Maz.  From me.”

Licking her lips slowly, Rey blinks and offers a gentle smile.  “Can’t exactly ask you to teach me and not be willing to utilize what I’ve learned, right?”

Ren snorts quietly, his eyes focusing on her.  “I suppose.  What I’m trying to say is that I was very proud of you.  I still am.  Everything we’ve done—it’s unconventional.  It’s not the norm, but you’ve taken that all in stride and become so much… surer.  I meant what I said, that first night?  You had ambition, and I wanted to see if you could use that.  You have.”

“Thanks to you,” Rey presses, reaching out to trail her fingers along the back of his wrist. 

“You did it all on your own.  I just opened the doors of possibility to you.”

She smiles, lacing her fingers between his.  “Thank you.”

There’s a quiet that settles over them as they finish eating, breathing and drinking and gentle humming when her fingers trace the birthmarks that dot his skin like stars.  Where hers is smooth, tanned and freckled from the summer, his is coffee creamer and blemished with a history that she can finally ask about.  Setting the trays and mugs aside at the foot of the bed, Rey crawls over and nestles next to him, their feet propped up or touching the headboard, and he kisses her lazily as her fingertips remap the constellations she doesn’t want to forget.

They stay in for a while longer, before reconciling with a reality that the world continues to move, and thus they cannot linger even in the harmony of their affections.  He strips her of his shirt, and she tugs his sleep-pants off at the ankles before they stumble and pull at one another, laughing their way into the bath.  The water is warm, accented with a few drops of essential oils, and Rey loses track of the circles Ren draws into her back with soap-slicked fingers and palms, but the motion is rhythmic and calming, a balm to the tender flush of her skin. 

When his fingers trail along her thighs and over her cunt, she can’t hide the squirm or hiss, the skin and sex sensitive even to his forgiving touch.  He’s gentle with her, cleaning her before letting the water care for the rest, dragging a small bar of soap over her bruised chest and shoulders.  Bringing a hand over his, she guides him between her breasts, along her ribs and over her stomach, back once more down the lengths of her thighs that they can reach before he’s wrapping his other arm around her and kissing her neck.

In his arms she feels safe, she thinks.  But there’s more than safety; there’s an assurance in the weight of him tucked around her like this, with his knees framing hers, his chest at her back, his mouth decorating her in whispers.  There’s a promise behind every touch, and glance, and even when there are none of these things, the tether in her soul strums whenever she looks at him, or thinks of him.  She knows, with a growing certainty, that every moment is _right_.

Once in a while, she might think of her husband—her ex-husband.  She’ll remember Ren’s confession of not wanting to ruin her, or what she’s created, and there’s a kind of sadness that lingers around the edges.  But they’re softer, she’s softer, yet stronger and firmer than she’s ever felt.  There are iron bars that are falling away from the visage she’s carried with her through this relationship, this partnership, and she’s tearing down the walls that held back her chances ten bricks at a time.

She’s free, she thinks.  She’s freer now to fight for what, and who, she wants.

She’s not aware of falling asleep, listening to his heart beat matching the symphony of her own.  She’ll be told later that he held her there, cleaning her and kissing her hair until the water ran cold, and then he’ll tell her how he carried her, patted her dry, and held her, still, until the dampness of her body turned soft and warm.

 

* * *

 

He has to return to the office, eventually, which means she returns home, as well.  It’s only for a short time, though, she promises, to gather a few things for herself—namely fresh clothes.  Even then, the drive back to the office to retrieve her car, and then head home, is a strange one.  A kind of harmony that had surrounded them fully follows still, but once they part in the garage of First Order, it’s barely more than a sheet, flapping in the wind. 

The city streets are cold and greying, a fresh rain splattering across her windshield as she makes the familiar yet aching trip back into the quieter, harder half of suburbia.  Here where the lawns aren’t quite as precisely groomed, and the houses are a little older.  But it’s better than where she’d been before, and the memories of hot, desert states and brown and beige apartments from her earlier years feels like an entire lifetime ago.

Bringing herself to the complex is tenuous, a difficult rhythm pulsing beneath her skin as she lets the engine rumble to a stop with the turn of her keys.  The rain is lighter now, a fair mist that gathers on the windows until the beads are full and fat, rolling and disappearing to places she cannot see.

Sighing, Rey gathers what little she has with her and slips out into the chilled breeze, taking careful steps as her abused body cries out with every other step.  But even in these stuttered moments where her brows furrow and her mouth curls into a wince, the pain melts away and bubbles down into something kinder, gentler, and a reminder of dark brown eyes and a body freckled, scarred, and entirely _hers_ soothes the aches in her bones.

There’s a smile on her face as she slips the key into her door, and she holds it there long after she’s turned and swung it open, and stepped into the apartment. 

It hasn’t been touched, every piece of furniture and decoration still in place.  There’s still a coffee mug on the living room table that she’d left behind, a flash of a trembling hand holding it, the rim stained with the press of her mouth and the salt of her tears.  Breathing deeply, Rey looks away from it, and crosses through the threshold of the dining and kitchen, passed the few dishes that were left behind in the sink.  Her bedroom is around the corner, and when she flips the light switch, her heart weakens.

She might have, had she not been paying attention, been oblivious to the changes.  The bed is impeccably made, though she knows that wasn’t her doing from the other morning.  The pillows are fluffed, ready to be rested upon.  The dresser stands proud and tall nearby, next to the closet door.  There’s a desk in the corner still scattered with work papers and photos, a laundry hamper next to the door that looks a little less full than she remembers.

Stepping inside, her flats are nearly silent on the carpet, and she trails her hand along the edge of the bed.  Where she’s been sleeping on dark satin, these sheets are light, almost pastel in their coloring.  The comforter bears a paisley design that she’d conceded to, even if she would have preferred matte colors and hard lines. 

Turning away from it, she rests a hand on the handle of the dresser, allowing a pause before pulling it open.  His clothes are gone, and hers are pitiful in the massiveness of the drawer.  Clenching her jaw, Rey leans back against the bed, staring hard at the empty space, the wood panels where his things once rested, haphazardly folded yet painfully organized by style, color, and importance.

Forcing a breath between her teeth, she reaches out with nervous fingers to grab at her own clothes.  She just needs a few, she thinks.  She’s hardly moving away, this is still her home, but there’s a rawness that’s tearing at her seams, ripping her open anew, and something like a choked moan searing itself into the back of her throat.

She knows what is right, but that doesn’t stop this from hurting.

Dumping the clothes onto the bed, she filters around for a bag, before reaching for the closet door.  Opening it confirms the same reality of the dresser, and her dresses and shoes are lonely in the small walk-in.  It’s nothing compared to Ren’s, but it had been enough for them, and now it feels too big for her things.  She tries not to linger, snatching up the first tote she can see before slamming the door shut.

Practically ripping the old clothes from her body, Rey lets them fall into a heap on the floor before changing into fresh leggings and an oversized sweater, the front print of her university’s logo faded with wear and washing.  She thinks she should put them away proper, drop them in a hamper at least because clutter is an awful thing and—

Well.  It doesn’t really matter when it’s just her, does it?

Biting back a fresh wave that crests in her throat and behind her eyes, Rey moves quickly, opening up the bag with twitching fingers.  She doesn’t care as she wads fresh underwear, a sleep set, some shirts—and she thinks she grabs a pair of pants?  Ah, yes—into the bottom, filling the canvas haphazardly.  It’s all falling into a blur before her as she stuffs the tote, grabbing the handles and swinging it off the bed.

The bathroom is just as empty, the shower curtain’s pulled back, the tub bearing her singular bottle of shampoo and conditioner mix, a half-bar of soap and a scrub.  Nearby, her toothbrush alone in the little holder on the back edge of the vanity’s counter.  She snatches it up and crams it into a travel case she has, jamming it down somewhere into the bottom of the tote. 

Hesitating at the bathroom door, she thinks about the spaces, the paths she has to cross back once more.  The floors must surely be lined in coals, but she leans into the door until it gives and makes a break. 

By the time she’s done she’s practically running to the front door, a tidal wave of anger and grief frothing behind her as rain pelts the windows of the apartment.  Fumbling with her keys, she slips out the door and slams it, just as she had with the closet door.  Fingers shaking, she manages to wedge the key into the knob, locking it as quickly as she can. 

The tidal wave creaks against the grain of the wood, her heart pounding in her ears. 

But then her phone is ringing, and she pulls it from the outside pocket of the tote to find Ren’s name in big, bold letters.  She sighs, slumping briefly into the grain, and answers it.

“Hey,” wincing at her own voice, she steps away from the door, the memories, the angry storm that she locked away still roaring in the back of her mind.

There’s a beat, and Ren’s voice is quiet and calm.  “I’m thinking red wine, steak, salad, and chocolate for desert.”

She could cry, but waits until she’s back in the car before the prick of tears forces her eyes shut.  She tilts her head back against the headrest, wisps of wet hair sticking to her forehead.  “Sounds wonderful.”

“I’ll be home in a few hours.  Will you be there, or do you have more errands?”

“No, I’ll—” her voice breaks, and she swallows thickly, finding the courage to smile.  “I’ll be home.”

“Okay,” he whispers.  She thinks that might be the end of it, is resigned to let her phone fall and melt into her grief for the time being until— “I love you.”

Rey could laugh, and cry.  She could do a lot of things and somehow settles for a weak chuff of laughter, a fresh wave of tears lining her cheeks that hurt far less than she expected them to.

“I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

When Ren walks through the door, Rey is curled up on his sofa, a fire crackling behind the glass nearby, and one of his books open on her lap.  She lifts her head long enough to regard him with a smile, before marking her place with a small scrap of paper.  Setting the book aside, she stands, crossing to him to take the paper bag from his left arm only to be wrapped up in it, a kiss warming the corner of her mouth.

There’s a breath that leaves her with some kind of tension she hasn’t been aware of dissipating from the space between her shoulders and up through her the back of her neck.  In this one motion, with his hand squeezing her side and his mouth linger, Rey feels a thousand pounds lighter, like feathers are lifting her up. 

Nestling against him, she takes another breath with the moment, before looking up at him.

“I got you something,” he tells her before she can speak, and she smiles instead.

“Oh?”  She muses, and he pulls away to put the bags he still has on the counter.  She follows him, placing the one she’s taken next to its counterparts before he’s fishing through one of the larger bags.  Watching him retrieve a bottle of red wine, a neatly packaged slice of chocolate cake, something that looks plush like a stuffed animal before she’s aware of the small bouquet of flowers that are also poking from the top of the bag.

“Kylo,” she breathes, shaking her head even as her smiles stays.  “You didn’t have to.”

He sets the wine and cake aside before pressing into her palms the stuffed toy.  It’s a small thing, a white little pup with large brown eyes.  Around its neck is a green chiffon ribbon, neatly tied in its simplicity.  Rey trails a finger over it, feeling her heart in the back of her throat as she tries to breathe around it.  Looped with the ribbon is a small silver chain, bearing a small caged pearl.

“Kylo,” Rey says again, examining it further.

“You wore pearl earrings one day,” he admits, and her eyes lift to meet his, “and with the necklace, I… I assumed you like pearls.”

Rey smiles, holding the plush toy and the necklace close.  “I love them.  I love you.”

There’s a kindness in his eyes that eases the strain between her lungs, and he tips his head to kiss her brow.  “You sounded sad over the phone, and… I was out and I realized I know you like the color green, and waffles, and red wine, but that’s it?  So… forgive the cheesiness, if you can.”

“They’re perfect,” she muses, unweaving the pearl’s chain from the ribbon and the dog before pressing it into Ren’s palm.  “Help me put it on?”

Ren’s hands are soft and warm against her skin, gently draping the necklace against her healing throat before clasping it at the nape of her neck.  When it settles, the caged-pearl sits just over the hollow above her sternum.  Trailing her fingers over it, Rey feels a smile puling at the corners of her mouth before she looks at him again.

His eyes soften some, before he’s kissing her cheek.  “Beautiful.”

Cheeks warming, Rey turns and catches his lips for a quick kiss.  “Dinner?”

“Yes,” he muses, returning to the bags once more.  “The steak is already marinated and everything, so it just needs to be grilled.  Would you like to toss the salad?”

“Oh, are you no longer interested in tossing salad?”  It’s a poor joke at best, but the raise in her eyebrow causes him to laugh. 

“I’m always down to toss salad,” it’s her turn to snort, the gleam in his eye matching the lightness in his tone, “but this steak needs me first.”

“Fine,” she’s mocking a pout, but it’s weak and falters into a smile before she weaves around him and the island in search of a bowl.  He takes a few packages from the paper bag furthest from her, before disappearing out onto the patio on the other side of the glass doors by the small dining table.

And if she’d felt troubled, or ever at all uncertain, she feels it abate, disappearing into the calm of the early evening.  A kind of domesticity is settling into the rhythm of her hands as she mixes kale, vegetables, and Romaine.  Rey glances out of the window to see Ren’s back, proud and squared at a modest grill, and the smile that’s stayed with her spreads wider until she’s almost grinning, summer sunshine and hope in her soul.

She’ll be okay, she rationalizes, mixing vinaigrette into the bowl, digging her palms in once more. 

By the time they sit down, the late autumn sunset has dipped in favor of a clear sky with bright stars and a brighter moon.  They’ve taken familiar seats at the table, a candle between them with full glasses of red wine within reach.  Rey would laugh at the familiarity, but instead of a full string of pearls, she has a single one.  Instead of a black dress, she’s in worn leggings and abandoned her sweater for one of Ren’s tee-shirts.  Ren isn’t eyeing her with a mischievous smile, but one of compassionate intent.

Her heart as never felt quite so steady.

Raising his glass to hers, she brings the rim in for a soft _clink_ , before tasting earth and berries.  A moment on her tongue, rich and flush, and Rey swallows with a sigh.

“It’s the same one,” she muses against the glass, and Ren raises an eyebrow.

“How’d you know?”

“The flavor’s the same,” she says, sipping it again.  It’s full, warm, settling into her with a dry kind of sweetness that tingles her cheeks.  Looking back to him, she smiles against the glass.  “Berries.  Almost a hint of what I expect to be pomegranate, but it’s not, it’s just…  It just is.”

Ren chuckles, drinking from his own.  “I’m glad you still like it.”  He says quietly.

“It has good memories.”

His eyes flash in the low light, catching the gleam of the candle in front of him.  His lips are parted, a twitch changing their shape as she watches him form his words carefully in the back of his mind.  Ren sets his glass aside, the flicker of the flame glowing in his gaze.

“Before you left, after that night,” he begins, and Rey tips her head.  “I started to say something, and you said you knew?”

“That you felt it,” she admits, placing her own glass beside his on the table.  “I knew it that night, I knew it the next morning in the shower.  The change.  Whatever had happened between us.  It felt like—”

“Summer.  A bond.  Something tangible between us.”

“Yeah.”

Ren hesitates, brows knitting together.  “Why did you leave?  If you felt it?”

It’s her turn to pause, and Rey wants to form the words, to shape them and let the truth hang in the open air between them.  But even now she struggles, something like an answer fumbling into an excuse that she swallows before she makes a fool of herself.  Her silence coaxes Ren to shift in his seat.

“I’m not angry, I’m just—” he begins, as if to provide a balm, but she doesn’t need it. 

“I don’t know,” she concedes, not really looking at him.  His eyes are on her, there’s no need to look to prove that.  She focuses, instead, on where her fingers still trail the stem of her wine glass, and she inhales deeply.  “I don’t…  Have a good answer.”

There’s a moment of silence; Ren is waiting for her, and she swallows thickly.

“I want—I want to say I left for my husband.  That he deserved that—for me to come home, like we agreed.  To act as though everything was fine.  I want to say I did it because I loved him, and I cared, and it was the right thing to do, but we know that’s not true.  We were falling apart already, and while the night didn’t ruin our marriage, the money didn’t save it either.” 

A pressure is welling behind each word, and Rey takes a shaky breath around it. 

“I want to say I didn’t know how to feel—but I think I did.  I knew things were rough with him, that they weren’t working anymore, and I knew when I went home that day that there was something… undeniable between you and me.  Even if I didn’t want to think about it then, it was there, always—” she huffs, shaking her head as the prickle of tears forces a weak, amused laugh.

“But I think I left because I knew it wasn’t the right time.  I would have been staying for the wrong reasons.  I would have felt like something was unfinished, unchecked, unresolved.  The shop wouldn’t have succeeded the way it has—I can keep it going without him, but I couldn’t start it without him.  I needed his vision, I needed his passion.  I needed familiarity.”  She looks at him, then, nodding slowly.  His dark eyes are trained, intent, but his expression is almost vacant. 

“I think I was beginning to understand what I wanted, and needed.  But the time wasn’t right, and I wasn’t ready to accept it.  Quite frankly I’m not sure what I would’ve done if I’d been the catalyst for both relationships.”

“You wouldn’t have—”

“Wouldn’t I?”  She chuckles again, blinking away tears.  “At least with the way things happened…  I can make peace with the way my marriage turned out.  We weren’t happy.  We tried to keep ourselves afloat, and we made decisions that just punched more holes into the ship.  If I loved him, I wouldn’t have asked you what you really wanted.  And you gave me _so_ many chances to stop.  I remember.  I kept going because I needed something I wasn’t getting anymore, and then… you know the rest.”

“And what if it had survived?”  His voice is soft, his breath barely affecting the candle between them. 

“I don’t really know that it would have.  I think we put a lot of hope into the money and the shop and it didn’t give him the peace of mind he was looking for, and I didn’t get the satisfaction I wanted.”

She thinks he tries to hide a small smile, but it pulls at the corner and lilts into his words.

“And have you found your satisfaction?”

Rey doesn’t try to mask her adoration.  “Yeah.  I have.  And I think for all it’s worth, everything was necessary.  It was needed.”

“We could’ve handled parts of it a little better.”

“Sure,” Rey agrees, shrugging a little.  There are a lot of things, she decides, that could use better handling.  “But we’re okay.  We’re gonna be okay.”

He hums, and she sees him smiling without hesitation.  She watches Ren take up his glass before offering it to her, and she toasts him in the warm glow of their little world.

“Yeah.  We will.”

 

* * *

 

The night bleeds away with wine and chocolate, the pearl at her throat admired with a look and a lingering finger more than once, and Rey doesn’t quite remember going to bed.  She does remember that it’s quiet and simple, with a cool wind filtering through the city skyline and pluming into the windows of Ren’s apartment.  As if the world outside is sighing, she falls asleep to the rhythm of a gentle heartbeat at her back.

In her dreams she sees the shop, with its polished floors and decorative pieces, before the world shifts and melts into the great hall with crystal chandeliers.  There are suits and dresses, clinking champagne glasses, and somewhere over the sea of voices and music is a rich, earthen tone of laughter that reminds her of the sweetness of citrus.  When she turns to find it, she’s met with brown eyes so dark they’re nearly black, but they are the most comforting thing.

With a creeping awareness that starts in her toes and wiggles its way through her body, the delicacy of sunshine becomes little more than a hum in her bones.  The darkness shifts and pulls into a greying light that carries her on a current swifter than a river and calmer than the sea.  She breathes and smells salt, seeing the port from a window she knows too well.  Light softens and lifts, engulfing her at once.

There’s a press, something warm, and soft, and wet against her shoulder, and when her eyes flutter open, it’s to greet the morning glow washing across the floorboards.  A shift, and a moan behind her, and she feels Ren’s mouth trailing along to the back of her neck, before his lips leave a kiss along her hairline. 

He has a hand on her hip, fingers drawing circles over the bone before they shift and dip to her abdomen.  Her own fingers twitch, reaching for his, slipping between to lace, to squeeze, and she turns her head to face him.  His hair is disheveled, matted on one side from the pillows beneath them, a crinkle at the corners of his eyes as a gentle smile spreads over his face.  He tells her good morning, and she kisses him instead.

He still tastes like wine, she finds, a moan whispering between her teeth as she pulls back.  And he chases her, kissing her again, just as soft if not a touch more delicate, lingering longer.  Even when it’s done, he stays close to her, nose pressed to the curve of her cheek.  Licking her lips, Rey leaves a touch against his jaw, shifting in his arms until she’s rolled to face him.  His hand slips along her side again, feeling her nakedness with just the tips of his fingers as he kisses her again, and again, until the quiet ache within her lungs burns with the pleasantness of sunshine.  When his palm touches her, fingers digging into her lower back, decadence blossoms beneath her skin. 

Sighing, she presses closer, dragging her knuckles against his chest until her fingers curl around the back of his neck.  Rey toys with the hair at the nape, opening herself for a kiss that’s more tongue than the last, still bearing the weight and delicacy of gentility like she might very well be made of glass.  She can still feel the thrumming sting of the marks, their coloring darker by the day, but his kiss and butterfly touch sinks deeper than teeth ever will.

His palm shifts, brushing along the tone of her thigh, coaxing her leg up and over his hip.  Obliging it simple, and the space between them narrows until he’s half hard and thickening against her sex.  Something like a gasp leaves her, sharp and desperate, the balance of want and patience tipping back and forth like a child’s see-saw. 

She wonders if her body will reach a point where feeling him arouses her.  Where a touch of his skin beneath her hands, against her legs, or when he holds her at night, will flood her with sensuality.  Will it always feel this good, this welcome, this necessary?  She hopes, with a pounding in her heart that leaves her breathless as he just keeps her close, his cock nestled lightly against her folds, that this never fades, that this never leaves her.  That he never leaves her. 

He doesn’t prod, he doesn’t push, he’s just—there.  Head to toe and all the places in between, he is aligned with her in his own way.  Were she to see them, she thinks, from above, they would look the same.  They are curled, tucked, melted together at the seams with foreheads together, hair fanned out on purple satin pillowcases.  And even when she wants to look away, to close her eyes and bask in everything that is _him_ , she doesn’t.  She remains, panting lightly as his touch sets her aflame from the inside out, staring at him.

And she is trembling.  Down to her very bones there is electricity racing, lighting her nerves and edges up like a Parisian night.  His gaze is strong, intensely bearing into her as if she is the sun, and he would gladly blind himself in her.  Her heart almost hurts it’s beating so fast within the confines of her smallness.  But each pulse, each dual-toned beat, _sings_ with an affection she had almost forgotten.  When she moves her hand from his neck to his chest, she finds the rhythm there, too.

The grey tether is blinding, shimmering like stars.  His free palm sneaks into the decreasing space, fingers brushing her breasts and nestling against her heart.  There’s a full symphony somewhere resonating inside great, acoustic halls, and it reaches and spreads until there’s only a ringing in her ears when he kisses her.

He tastes like summer.

If there’s a passage of time, Rey isn’t aware of it.  There are only a few fundamental truths that she cares to bear witness to, and let the rest fall away.  The first is that she is lucky; for all her misgivings, and successes, she has risen above the expectations of many, herself included.  She is lucky, and grateful, that she has built this world around her, has shaped herself to fit the mold of what she wanted, and has fought for what she needed.  In return, she’s afforded more than she could have imagined, but she takes none of it for granted.

Ren kisses her throat, his hand slipping from her thigh to adjust, to press.  She’s wet though ill-prepped, but takes him anyway because _fuck yes_ even in the stretch, the slight burnt that pulls a wince and a small distress, the pleasure is overwhelming.  He’s not fully hard, yet, and she relishes in the sounds he makes as he thickens inside of her.

Biting her lip, she keeps her palm over his heart, and loops the other around the back of his neck once more, clinging to him.  Her leg shakes, the tremor in her thigh inching him closer, and his palm is warm against her lower back.  They share a breath, still in the calm of the morning that stretches through the windows, light touching the edge of the bed.  And, then, he moves.

The second is that Ren, for all his guise and power, is a satisfyingly patient man, willing and ready to indulge without an expectation of reciprocity.  And she knows this, even as the gentle roll of his hips stutters all that isn’t _yes, yes, yes_.  Even in the regard of their first night, he did not _expect_ it of her to do more than she was willing to give.  He gave her every opportunity, every advantage that he could afford, and perhaps she’d called him on his affection unnecessarily for the sake of someone who did not, at all, deserve her consideration, but even then…  He waited.   

He waited for her.

Ren guides her to him, thrusting just as much as he is pulling her in with the press of his palm into her back.  Clenching around him, Rey stifles as a gasp as he rubs her just right.  The memory of him taking her with all the pleasantries of a savage, desperate man, still buzzes in her bones, but there’s something infinitely rawer in this moment that burrows and settles in her core.  Her hands shift, wrapping around his shoulders, and he takes the weight off their sides to roll, her back against the sheets as he sinks deeper.

Moaning, she tangles her fingers into his hair, shivering as his lips find hers for a quick and quiet kiss.  His thrusts are a little harder now than they were before, the change in angle allowing him to dip in and brush parts of her otherwise untouched.  There is fire in her core, growing and flourishing as it fans and touches her ribs, sinking into her thighs.  And then he slows, calming the yearning, her wanton needs lost to yet another kiss. 

His name is whispered like a secret, some desperate call for more, just a little more.  He gives another inch, deeper and firmer than the last before he’s pushing with his knees into the mattress and lifting her in his arms.  Her own touch the bed, stable as he fills her completely, and she’s momentarily breathless as he kisses the place between her collarbones.  She has more freedom to move, to rock into him, and she tightens around him for a breath before shifting her hips again.  He sighs into her skin, her name purred against her throat as the band of sunlight stretches and warms their bodies.

Rey’s hands come to his face, cupping his cheeks as she kisses him again, and again, meeting his thrusts every time until the fire in her is vying for the last edges of her.  She’s wet, taking him fully and easily, his arms holding tight enough to crush yet somehow it’s not close enough.  Groaning deeply, she tips her forehead against his, blinking back the sting of tears as emotion swells and suffocates her.

His eyes don’t leave her face, even as they glisten.

The third is that she loves him, wholly, unconditionally, and with parts of herself she didn’t even know could love.  And perhaps it’s affection, perhaps it’s the highs she surrenders to when he’s near.  She knows the crushing sensation of reality when he’s away, can still taste the salt of despair and anger from her apartment and the barrenness of it all.  But even there, in that cold space, there was something warm, clean, fresh and unwaveringly bright.  His name was a promise in the back of her mind, and when she shut that door, it was real.

He is real, she tells herself, he is real and in this moment we are real, and we are here.  Ren says her name, the clench in her body finding the tension in his, her nails pinching the valley between his shoulder blades as his fingers press new spots into her sides, her ribs.  He gasps, eyes squeezing shut at last as the pleasure takes him.  Her eyes remain open, taking him in as he comes, her own orgasm enough to make her shake, to make her cry out and cling.  Not enough for her to relinquish her gaze, to lose this sight of Kylo Ren coming undone from her, and becoming new again.

The fourth is that he loves her, too.  He loves like a man ready to be martyr, if only it meant that she was his guiding light.  His fingers dig like she might disappear, his kiss heavy like it might always be the last, a sort of unrestrained need to hold just a little longer.  And she’s learning, as she watches the tension bleed away with a bliss that eases the wrinkles at his eyes and the clench in his jaw, that these are hardened in him from a history she’s yet to learn, but it makes him genuine.  He loves her. 

She kisses his forehead, his hair, drinking him with a languid fervor as the music in her bones settles to quiet lullabies.  She traces him, the birthmarks, and scars, the healing scratches, with her fingers until he purrs, tilting his head to regard her with a half-lidded and endless gaze.  They stay there long enough for the sunlight to wash over them, and she sees hues of amber and gold in the dark of his eyes.

Rey tells him he’s beautiful, and his smile is lopsided, just a little shy beneath the lines and contour of age.  Her fingers smooth back a lock of his hair, sweat in the seam, and dampening the roots, before she presses her mouth to the marks on his face, the tip of his nose, the bow of his lips.  She gives attention to the shells of both ears, feeling them warm with his embarrassment and glee, returning once more to his mouth where he claims all of her interest. 

They remain in a kiss as he eases them down once more, taking all the care he can to be gentle even as her whimpers of discomfort vanish into the dark warmth of his mouth.  Sunlight has flooded the bed, warming the sheets where they’ve abandoned them, soaking into arms and legs until Rey isn’t sure if it’s the glow or Ren’s affection that tingles her. 

And if she had to ask, had to go back seven months and determine if this is what she envisioned—perhaps she might have laughed at the idea.  She might not have considered that she’d be back here again, with a pearl at her throat and Kylo Ren’s mouth on hers like he’s been here with her for her entire life.  But she settles into his arms, memorizing the way the light catches his hair and reveals a halo that could almost pass for auburn, and it’s with a smile that she finds she doesn’t care what she might have thought then.  That doesn’t matter, anymore.

Only this matters. 

Only this will ever matter.


End file.
